


may it always be so

by esmeraldablazingsky



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Sharing a Bed, jrrt jrrt why does everything hurt, these three have my favorite friendship in the entirety of middle earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 07:59:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17341595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmeraldablazingsky/pseuds/esmeraldablazingsky
Summary: “What troubles you, meleth-nin?” asked Finduilas. The light touch of her hand was warm, like the sun’s rays on spring mornings nearly faded from memory.“Now?” said Gwindor. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”“May it always be so,” said Finduilas.





	may it always be so

Gwindor snapped awake in the dark to what he thought was the howl of wind, but what would likely turn out to be nothing more than the last scraps of his dream still ringing in his ears. It seemed to him that he was lying in a litter of leaves, wrapped in Beleg’s cloak, and Túrin—

Túrin was—

Gwindor scrambled to find a hiding place, pressing close to the trunk of a tree while he searched the dark for what enemy had taken his traveling companion. But the night was silent, and yet there was no sign of Túrin. Gwindor reached for the sword, but it was not there either. 

His heart in his throat, he moved towards what soft light he could see through the dense forest. Pushing aside tough branches, Gwindor crept across the cold, packed dirt until he reached a clearing, the trees towering like walls around him until they met in a soaring canopy overhead. Túrin had to be somewhere. 

He continued in this manner, jumping at sounds, until he stumbled and reached out on instinct with his maimed arm. Stifling a yelp of surprise, he crashed in an undignified heap against the wall, freezing immediately afterwards to listen for following footsteps, lest he be found. 

As Gwindor held his breath, his face against the floor— the floor?

He jumped to his feet and into the closest corner as a door opened nearby, and the light of an elvish flame spilled into his line of vision. 

“Gwindor?” said a cautious voice. “Is that you?”  
Holding a lantern, Túrin squinted into the dark.

“My friend, should you not be sleeping?” he asked. Gwindor said nothing and continued to hold still. If he didn’t move, he would not reveal himself to whatever dark power was casting this illusion. But Túrin only came closer, looking ever more concerned as he did.

“Gwindor,” he said again, more urgently. “Are you well? You look… disturbed.”

At this, Gwindor blinked. The trees he had been surrounded by faded away, revealing a carven hall in the dim light. And Túrin was indeed before him, perfectly safe, whole, and holding a light. Gwindor sighed and slid down the wall until he sat on the floor with his knees to his chest, trying to quell their shaking. Of course. They were in Nargothrond, and Túrin was completely fine. 

“I simply went for a walk,” he said. He knew full well how unconvincing it was, but maybe Túrin would take the hint and leave him be, as not to embarrass him further. 

Then again, Túrin had never been good at taking hints. 

“That seems unlikely,” he said. “In any case, you did not get far.” He paused. “Or if you just set out, would you like company?” 

On the one hand, Gwindor was not keen on anyone seeing him in this state. Not Túrin, not even Finduilas. But on the other hand…

“Company would be nice,” he said. 

“Of course,” said Túrin. He didn’t point out that Gwindor did not get up to walk anywhere; he simply took a seat beside him, resting his lantern on the ground. 

“What happened?” Túrin asked after a while. Gwindor shook his head with the barest breath of a humorless laugh. 

“Nothing,” he said. “And if it were to be something, I’m sure you have already guessed it.”

“That may be so,” said Túrin. “Still, I must remind you that you can trust me with this, or anything else you may wish to tell me.” 

“I’m just glad you are safe,” said Gwindor.

“Of course I am safe,” said Túrin, but he seemed to understand Gwindor’s meaning. 

“Do you think you’ll go back to sleep?” he asked. “If not, I am open to waiting up to talk with you. I’m sure Finduilas would not object to being woken either.” 

“I wouldn’t want to deprive either you nor her of sleep,” said Gwindor. Túrin shrugged.

“I was awake already,” he said. “She may be as well. I can check.”

“I’ll come with,” said Gwindor. He had no desire to see Túrin depart into the gloom— some dark part of his mind always whispered that he would not return. 

“Sure,” said Túrin. He took Gwindor’s hand and pulled him to his feet, taking up his lantern with the other. Finduilas’ room was not far, simply a short distance to the other side of Gwindor’s own. 

To Gwindor’s surprise, the door opened before they could do anything. 

“Ah, Gwindor,” said Finduilas, a smile spreading over her face. “And Túrin. I had a feeling you would appear this night.” 

“Well, that’s that,” said Túrin, with a glance back at Gwindor. 

“Come in,” said Finduilas. “I do have a particularly large mattress for a single person, especially one so slight as myself.” 

“I know it well,” said Gwindor, startling a laugh out of Túrin. The laugh in turn ignited a sparkle in Finduilas’ eyes as she sat down on the edge of her bed, kicking her legs back and forth with slight nervousness. She patted the space next to her, and Gwindor took it. 

“Agarwaen, you too are welcome,” said Finduilas, causing both herself and Túrin to blush. But he thanked her and sat beside Gwindor despite his surprise, and for that Gwindor was indescribably thankful. 

Finduilas leaned in against Gwindor’s side, lacing their fingers together. After a few moments, he could hear her humming a song he could swear he’d heard before, one of healing and of love. And love her he did, thought Gwindor— so much his heart ached with it. 

Music in the voice of an elven princess was a powerful thing, and Gwindor knew that that was part of the reason he felt all the fear and tension of earlier melting away. More than that, though, it was the companionship and kindness of his beloved and of his strange, mortal, deeply loving friend. 

“What troubles you, meleth-nin?” asked Finduilas. The light touch of her hand was warm, like the sun’s rays on spring mornings nearly faded from memory. 

“Now?” said Gwindor. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” 

“May it always be so,” said Finduilas, and Gwindor could feel her smile as she kissed his cheek. She lay down, and so did Gwindor and Túrin, and Finduilas threw a sheet across the room to cover Túrin’s lantern. Thus it was dark again, but the stifling mists of the forest did not return, stayed by Finduilas’ arm around Gwindor’s waist and Túrin’s presence not a foot away. 

_Nothing at all,_ Gwindor thought. And unexpected as it was, for once it was true. 

**Author's Note:**

> on the off chance someone actually reads this, yell at me in the comments or on tumblr @princess-faelivrin! I don’t bite & thank you so much for reading!


End file.
